


The Broken Ballerina

by Selnyam



Category: Changeling: The Lost, Fairy Tale - Fandom
Genre: Changelings, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Style, Gen, Horror, Puppets, Strangulation, Torture, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 05:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18204269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selnyam/pseuds/Selnyam
Summary: Continuing my Changeling tales, this is the Tale of The Broken Ballerina, Queen of the Court of Autumn, Delicate Drinker of Fear





	The Broken Ballerina

The puppet slumped in the corner of the abandoned theater. It was a life size marionette, dressed in a tattered and dusty ballerina's outfit. Hanging from its joints were long strings which sprawled out on the floor. Tied to end of a few of the strings were small broken pieces of wood. Discarded and tossed aside the doll sat and remembered.  
It had danced on the stage, and it had danced gracefully. People came from far and wide to watch the show. It was one of 6 other dolls, but it was the Master’s favourite. The Master had shaped it to perfection and treated it with the most care. When it came time, she spent the most time cleaning and touching up the doll.  
It imagined the other marionettes were jealous, but had no way to ask. Its mouth was a painted half smile, that some would describe as coy. While its eyes could move and look on their own, it had no ability of speech, no lips or tongue to form words. The doll could not even move unless the strings were pulled to guide it.  
Deep in its mind it had memories of not being a wooden puppet. It remembered working in a field, and having skin, and a family. There was a fainter memory however, one of running through the woods in fear with something chasing them. Those memories caused their head to hurt, so it chose not to think of them. It dwelled instead on a more recent memory.  
They were dancing. The crowd was smaller, as it had been in the last dozen shows. The theater was failing and the Master was getting angry and desperate. She couldn’t dance if there was no crowd to entertain. The Master was giving one last show, before deciding to move on, and return to her home. The place where the Ballerina was made. Where their skin was removed and bones changed to a hard covering on the outside. Where their nerves were pulled out, and stretched, and wound to make string. Where they stopped being what they were, and existed only to dance  
The Ballerina was giving their best performance they ever had. They were spinning and posing and the small crowd was clapping and applauding. The Master was quite pleased. Something went wrong. Maybe in all her stress the Master hadn’t kept the upkeep on the crosspiece, because as it went for one wide sweep it broke. The Ballerina’s leg swung wide, out over the audience and struck a small child in the face. The child began to cry, and the show came to a grinding halt.  
The Ballerina was thrown into the corner backstage. The Master was furious with it, shouting and blaming it for not being better at the show. It was the reason people weren’t coming to the shows, and it would remain here until it learned its lesson. The Master then departed. So here it had remained. As the theater was closed and fell into disrepair. As day and night went on, and the windows were boarded up. Nothing had ever changed in a long time. Just dust, and bugs, and memories. Yet, now tonight was different. A voice could be heard in the distance.  
“Are you sure we should be in here? This place looks like it could fall apart any second!” the puppet felt its heart race. Was it their Master returning? Would someone fix them so they could dance again? Two small circles of light danced around the room as two figures walked into view. The lights shown on it, and she could barely make out the shapes of two young men holding flashlights.  
“What the hell is that!?” the one on the right asked. As it spoke, the Ballerina felt a strange wave come from the figures. It realized it was fear, and it felt good. If only they could come closer so it could feel more of that delicious, energizing fear. Oh, if only it could move on its own! If only someone would move their strings and walk them closer!  
As it thought this, and attempted to reach out to the two figures a strange thing happened. The ends of the strings attached to their wrists twitched. They crawled across the floor and slithered towards the men. The visitors were so focused on the doll, the one on the left didn’t see the strings until they tightened around his leg.  
Screams came next and the fear was good. The Ballerina pulled the young man close to feel the fear better. The other ran, leaving his flashlight behind. The strings dragged him closer and more of them reached out, wrapping around his arms. They wrapped around his neck and pulled his face close to its. It drank deeply of the fear, feeling it strengthen like the joy and sorrow of her dances never had. The fear suddenly stopped as the young man made a sound, and went limp. The threads wrapped around his neck went slack.  
The Ballerina lowered the body to the floor, saddened. It hadn’t meant to kill the man. It just wanted to feel that intoxicating fear better! Moving the strings was going to take practice, but oh what a joy! The ends of the strings shook loose of the remaining chunks of wood holding them and whipped towards cross bars on the ceiling. Pulled to its feet once again, the Ballerina began to dance. This time, and all times from now it would control its own dance. It was finally free.


End file.
